moonsetter
by creatiion
Summary: It's another day, all alone, and with nobody in the audience to hear you tap out melancholic rhythms on the piano. You play it again and again, as per your wish when you thought you were dying, but Machiavelli, Black Hawk, and even Virginia aren't here to listen. Another day after escaping Alcatraz with only the Flamels. [ au verse where only Billy and the Flamels escape Alcatraz ]


quick note

i wanted billy angst and you know. what better than a slight au where billy survives, machiavelli dies healing him, he has no idea what happened to virginia really, and black hawk was eaten by nereids. tl;dr all his friends are dead.

if anyone's wondering, i was thinking of the song moonsetter from homestuck when i wrote this.

* * *

Your fingers skittered over the piano keys recklessly, sharp and precise only 'cause you've played this tune 'til you wore it raw. You aren't a refined 'n' polished man by any means, but you do have something special for the arts, even if most others think you'd only enjoy reckless and dangerous activities, violent to the point of death. You think really the only people to see past that whole dumb charade were Black Hawk and Machiavelli. You weren't stupid, not as stupid as others made you out to be. Black Hawk was in it too, but he was less careful, less masked 'bout what he did and didn't like. His people appreciated art and didn't think of it as a weakness. Yours would laugh and hold a shootout with you as target practice.

You weren't particularly eager to repeat the experience.

You knew Black Hawk had friends other than you, but you wonder if you, as the only current alive survivor of Alcatraz, were obligated to bury him. The thought brings on a new wave of despair, and disrupts the nostalgic, joyful melody. You actually pause, even though you haven't arrived at a rest yet. Black Hawk had died, but how did you honor that? With your Western undertaker ways, or his people's customs? You had no idea, it had never occurred in conversation between you two. There was no body, but you had no idea of how to honor him afterwards, even without a corpse six feet under. You shake your head, gritting your teeth and forcing the memories down. The news that the immortal warrior had been eaten by Nereids, ugly daughters of an uglier father. You had thought him immortal in more than just the sense of age.

Then.

Then there was Machiavelli.

Machiavelli only learned 'cause he was somethin' special, it seemed. Sure, he was a European immortal older than the crib you rocked in, but he didn't hold that aura (heh) of arrogance like a blanketing atmosphere. You know his pal, Dee, thought you were awfully dumb and lucky, and because you didn't wear pressed suits tailor made, you were incompetent and incapable, but you wrestled things bigger than his ego, which are something hard to find, considering the sheer size of it.

He didn't lie and treat you like a tiny bumbling toddler that didn't know much in the trade.

He had talked with you, and right from the beginning, he pointed out your car and appreciated it, instead of laughing or talking up a big dust storm of other cars that were superior. You tense up, before forcing yourself to relax. The melody had gone a bit awry, dipping down low and tinging itself with grief. No, you weren't Mozart or anybody special, but you could play piano quite nicely. You had... you had done that with Virginia, with her trilling away on her flute, actual music meant to be heard by men and not some deadly lullaby to lull or awaken monsters.

Virginia, a real snake, but a real friend, where did she go? She always did disappear, 'cause she couldn't stand being tied down. You understood the need for freedom in times of restriction and bondage, but really, you understood her fiercely independent nature. All your friends, her included, had tried to kill you at one point or another, and the man you called best friend shot you in the ribs. Where did that whimsical freedom whirl her away to now? Six feet under with the good doctor Dee?

Thinkin' back, you actually had wanted to teach both Machiavelli and Virginia to play piano, a selfish desire and an arrogantly optimistic one, but it was a want. You never asked Virginia, 'cause you doubted you'd make it out of the conversation alive, and Machiavelli, there had been no time.

Just a brief snatch of conversation in a car, a comment about how you played piano and a reply about how he wanted to learn but never had time to, and you had promised him you'd teach him.

Your hands on his, guiding them through each rhythm and note, each melody and rest, something you could teach him, that he hadn't learned in his centuries. He'd enjoy it, a lot you think, and not act pompous and arrogant about it. Like he could do it long before you were a concept in your mother's mind. You liked him a lot, and his last wish was for you to continue playing the piano for him. You watched him die healing you, and now you're back to square one, a body surrounded by enemies and people he couldn't trust.

He had said he'd teach you magic, and it seemed you two would learn from each other. You can always be taught magic, he never had to be your mentor, but you had liked something about the whole set-up. Maybe the friendship part, that he wouldn't be ditching you for a better and more capable apprentice. Maybe the deal feeling you got, that you two would teach the other something. You'd show him melodies and rhythms, notes and rests, crescendos and forte volume, decrescendos and piano. He'd show you what potential you really had, because even if you weren't one of them special twins, you could still do your own thing, and not rely on only guns and what little Black Hawk had taught you. You didn't have to be violent, but you kill the thought along with the lingering yearning to teach Machiavelli piano. You couldn't teach a corpse piano anymore than you could learn magic from it.

You shake your head, and thank the lord you got this song right down, 'cause if you glanced at the sheet music, you'd find you can't read it for how blurry your tears made your vision.

* * *

 **few _notes_ about music definitions**

Crescendo - making a note or a phrase start soft, then get louder

Descendo - making a note or phrase start loud, then get softer

Forte - Loud in volume

Piano - Soft in volume

Rest - A marking you do not play, can have different values to show how long the rest will last


End file.
